A Cowboy in Shepherd's Crossing

by Ruth Logan Herne

  She laughed. “Good point. When you eat a store-bought turkey, the consistency is different. It’s been tenderized. The home-raised turkeys had a much firmer feel.”

  “That’s it exactly.” He sent her an approving look. “The sheep will be the same weight and look the same, but the ratio of fat to lean will be slightly different and the texture will vary. Here we are,” he said as he pulled into the driveway. “That’s Bonnie Lass over there.” He pointed to a dark sorrel mare on the far side of the split-rail paddock. “And the black-and-white is Bubba. My dad’s horse. Would you like to go see them?”

  “No.”

  He’d started that way. He stopped, surprised.

  She took a step back and shook her head. “I can admire them from afar, thanks. Lizzie and Char are the horsewomen in the family. I’m better inside a house than inside a barn.”

  How did someone with an aversion to animals just become quarter owner of a multimillion-dollar ranching operation? “Good to know.” He moved back and led the way to the front of the house. He unlocked the door and waited for her to follow.

  She didn’t.

  She stepped back and snapped several pictures of the exterior.

  “The outside doesn’t need fixing.”

  She jotted something into the tablet and shrugged. “I want to envision the whole package, if that’s okay? Just like with Gilda’s place.”

  She followed him inside.

  He expected criticism because the real estate agent had given him a hefty list of changes—a list he tore up as soon as she was gone.

  Melonie surprised him instantly when she grabbed hold of his arm. “Jace, this is charming.”

  “Is it?” He ran a hand over the stubble along his jaw.

  “Well, it needs a little spruce-up, some painting and some crown molding, but look at these built-ins.” She motioned to the floor-to-ceiling bookcases flanking the fireplace. “You put a wood-burning insert in here.”

  “The Realtor told me I should pull it out and redo the fireplace. She said it adds eye appeal to the buyer.”

  “And then they freeze all winter?” When she rounded her eyes in disbelief, a wave of relief washed over him. “Cold winds, slashing rains, heavy snow? Who wouldn’t want a cozy wood-burning stove to come home to?”

  “Exactly. It takes the pressure off the heating bill and gave me some extra money to help Justine get through college.”

  “Jace, what a good brother you are.” She’d been jotting quick notes as she moved through the downstairs rooms. Now she turned. Met his gaze. And then she didn’t stop meeting his gaze. She brought one hand up, her free one, and touched her throat.

  Oh, man.

  He wanted to step forward. Smile at her. Maybe flirt, just a little.

  He stepped back instead. “There are two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs.”

  “Let’s check them out.” He followed her up the stairs. She paused at the top and snapped a couple of pictures. She didn’t say anything.

  That kind of unnerved him. A quiet woman was a rare bird in his experience, and as she tapped things into her tablet, he shoved his hands into his pockets. Then pulled them out again. He motioned downstairs. “I can make coffee. I’ve got a one-cup system so it’s always ready.”

  “Coffee sounds great,” she told him. But she didn’t look up. She was perched against the short stair rail at the top of the stairs while her fingers flew.

  “Okay.” He went downstairs. Made the coffee. When she didn’t come down, he called up to her. “Coffee’s ready.”

  “Perfect.”

  She hurried down the stairs, and came really close to sliding across the hardwoods like he’d done as a kid. “Is it in the kitchen?”

  “On the counter. There’s milk, too. And sugar. Nothing fancy, though. Sorry.”

  “Black’s fine. If it’s great coffee, why ruin it with all that other stuff?” She grabbed the coffee, took a seat at the table and sipped. Then she savored the moment, eyes round, before she lifted the mug like a salute. “Perfect blend.”

  “Cowboy blend,” he told her.

  “You made this?” That got her full attention. “Like the actual coffee beans and stuff?”

  “No.” He didn’t sit. Not in the middle of the workday. There was too much stuff to do. “I order it from a place in Boise—White Cloud Coffee. This is one of their signature blends. Cowboy.”

  She smiled at him, then took another sip of pure appreciation. “It’s ideal. Not bitter. Not weak. Great aroma.”

  “You love coffee.” He did, too. Maybe too much.

  “I love good coffee,” she corrected him. “I will admit to being a coffee snob. It’s a fault, I know.”

  “Then it’s one I share because bad coffee shouldn’t be allowed.”

  “Exactly.” She smiled up at him again. Did she know how inviting that was? Was she using that pretty smile to break him down before she gave him bad news about the house?

  “I’m going to go take care of the horses while you nose around, all right?”

  She lifted the ironstone mug. “I’ve got coffee in a great mug and the info I need. I’m good.”

  “And cookies,” he reminded her. He set the little pack of Pine Ridge cookies on the table. “It’s like afternoon tea, ranch-style.”

  “Way better,” she told him.

  He went outside, conflicted.

  She dressed upscale and talked hometown-friendly. Until she turned the drawl on to put him in his place.

  He smiled, thinking of that, then stopped smiling because he was thinking of it. Thinking of her. That’s all he needed, to fall for another woman with big dreams of TV or stardom or anything that wasn’t down-home Idaho.

  His phone buzzed a text from Justine. Can we talk? Soon? Because I can’t get my head around all this, Jace.

  Him, either, but he was older. Call me tonight.

  Busy now?

  Getting house ready for babies.

  Unbelievable...but cool. In a weird way. Coming home in a week to meet them. Hug you. Figure things out.

  She needed to touch base with reality, just like him. Good. Can’t wait to see you. Talk later.

  He finished filling the water trough, then opened the grain bin.

  Both horses headed his way. Bonnie trotted the length of the paddock, still spritely at ten years old.

  Bubba plodded along, an easygoing old fellow. He wouldn’t last much longer, most likely. He was ancient in horse years. He snorted toward Jace, spattering him. “Thanks, old man.”

  The aged gelding nodded as if pleased, then went to his grain bucket.

  “A man and his horses.”

  He turned, surprised to hear her voice. “I thought you didn’t like horses?”

  “I have enough respect for them to keep my distance,” she told him. “They’re over there. I’m here.” She pointed to her side of the fence. “It’s all good. I’ve got some quick ideas to show you.”

  “Already?” He stroked his hand along Bubba’s neck, reminded the horses to behave, then came her way. “That’s quick.”

  “I kept it basic,” she told him as they walked back to the house. “What you could do, what you should do and what must be done. Then I’ll work up the design specs on it tonight so you can jump in.”

  “More coffee?” he asked her once they were inside. He kicked off his boots at the side entry.

  “Your mama raised you right, cowboy.” She flicked a glance at the boots. “Barn boots don’t belong inside.”

  Your mama.

  Funny how a simple term like that had felt so good two days ago. Now it cut deep because he’d found out she wasn’t his mother.

  Oh, she loved him. Jace had no doubt about that. Ivy Middleton had taught high-school science, raised two great kids and kept a sharp eye on their small holding and his f
ather. She doted on faith and family, one hundred percent.

  But she wasn’t his mother after all.

  “Please say that dark expression isn’t heading my way.”

  He grimaced and pulled up a chair once his coffee was done brewing. “Sorry.”

  “The adoption thing has you spinning.”

  He glared at her for being right, but it wasn’t her fault so he made a rueful face. “It’s like a weight on my shoulders. Not that they adopted me, because they were the best parents anyone could ask for. If you wanted model parents, Jason and Ivy Middleton were the benchmark.”

  “Ivy?” Her eyes went wide again. “Oh, I love that name.” She sighed softly. “It’s so pretty. I love that old-fashioned names are coming back in style.” She placed her right hand over her heart. “Dignity and beauty comes with the name.”

  “That was Mom. But she hated lies. She was honest all the time, so why keep this a secret? It’s not as if folks don’t adopt children all the time.”

  “Good questions with no answers you want to hear, I expect.”

  “Grandparents are raising grandkids all over the country. But not mine. Because I didn’t fit the image of a Hardaway grandson.”

  “Their loss. And not for nothing, cowboy...” She sat back and sipped her fresh cup of coffee. “If they were as mean-spirited as Gilda made herself out to be, they did you a huge favor. I’d be writing her a thank-you note.”

  He started to glare, but paused when she raised her hand.

  “You ended up without any of the negative nonsense that was so prevalent thirty years ago. That’s all I meant. How is your sister handling this? Justine, right?”

  “She’s calling me later. Wants to talk. And she’s coming home next week. She’s in the middle of an internship in Seattle, and probably can’t afford the time, but she wants to see me. Meet the babies. And come to terms with all this. But I’m not sure how to help her do that when I hardly come to terms with it myself.”

  Chapter Five

  Melonie wasn’t exactly an expert on forgiveness. Her father had given her more than enough experience with untrustworthy relatives, but she hadn’t reconciled any of it. She probably needed to get over the urge to do a full-fledged father-daughter smackdown first, an urge that went against what she believed. What her faith taught her. She frowned. “They say time is the best help. And faith. But in my experience, it hasn’t exactly worked like that so I’m no help. Sorry.”

  “Lizzie said your dad messed you guys over.” He ran one finger around the rim of his mug, frowning. “That’s got to be rough. I’m sorry you ladies had to go through that.”

  “Us and a few thousand employees when he embezzled all the corporate funds he could get his hands on.” She pretended a bright smile. “And now he and his current significant other are lolling in Dubai, spending other people’s money. But here’s a lovely and quite notable difference.” She opened her notebook and pitched him a smile. “Your parents loved you to distraction. My sweet mama went home to God when my sister Charlotte was a baby. I was a toddler. We never knew her. We have no memories of her, just photographs.

  “We had Corrie,” she continued. “She called us her babies and she meant it. So we didn’t have a mother, not much of what you’d call a father and our grandparents were caught up in Kennedy-esque dreams.

  “Through it all we had Corrie. She was there at every event, every recital, every soccer game, every choir practice. And that’s what I mean about Gilda doing you a favor, because if it had been my dad in the stands, things would have been quite different. Because no matter how well you did, it was never going to be good enough.” She slid a list across the table. “Here’s my rundown. Must. Should. Could.”

  “I organize my jobs and seasons that way.” Approval laced his tone. He read the list. “Yes to the must list, and to the should column as well. Why not do it all right now while the roofers give me time?”

  “That was my thought, too.” She waited a few beats. “And the could list?”

  “To pretty up the outside?”

  “Yes.”

  She wasn’t asking for the moon, and if he did revisit selling for the following spring, the house would be ready. “Yes.”

  “All right. Are you fine if we keep the outside classic, like it is? This isn’t a historic landmark, but I’d like to keep the historic look. No new siding. The clapboard is perfect, it just needs painting. Vintage-style shutters. Paint the picket fence, which I love, by the way. New gutters. Wash and paint the concrete porch. And we’ll pretty up the gardens.”

  “I meant to keep them up better.” He gripped his mug with both hands. “But then there wasn’t time. They were my mom’s gardens and she had a sweet hand with them.”

  “I can see it.”

  He looked skeptical for good reason. To an undeveloped eye the landscaping was a mess.

  She laughed. “I really can, despite the weeds and the old stems poking up through. There are tricks to keeping things tidy now, with little or no weeding. Leave it to me.”

  “I’m not used to that.” He met her gaze frankly and she had to fight the little catch in her throat when he did that. “Handing over the reins on personal things.”

  “Pretend it’s professional.”

  “Except that we’re talking about my house. My home. My parents’ house,” he added softly, and there was no denying the longing in his tone. A man who loved and missed his parents.

  “I’m giving you veto rights,” she told him.

  “Yeah?”

  “Sure. I’ll have the design set by morning because we’re not doing anything major. The house is wonderful as is. If this was a car, we’d call this a detail job.”

  “You don’t want to change the kitchen cabinets?”

  She stared at him, then the classic cabinetry, then him again. “Only a fool would mess with something like that. Do you want new cabinets?” It pained her to even think of these old beauties being taken down.

  “No, but the real estate agent suggested a full tear-out. She said the kitchen update should be at the top of the list.”

  “Agreed. But we can work with the pretty cabinets. Not against them. The very idea is ludicrous.” She stood and took her mug to the sink. “We should switch out the sink and the countertop and do a fresh paint job. And a new light fixture. Then change the appliances as you need to, but watch for sales.”

  “Easy enough.”

  “We’re in a time crunch. Here, give me your mug, I’ll rinse it out for you.” She put out her hand.

  So did he.

  Her hand closed over his on the mug. Then she looked up. Met his gaze.

  Eyes the color of rich cocoa with just enough gold flecks to brighten when he smiled. Thick eyebrows. A firm jaw. Corrie told her once that a good man didn’t blubber or fuss or fumble much with words. That a good man had a strong heart, well-set shoulders and a firm jaw.

  This cowboy fit the definition to the max.

  His eyes swept her face. Her mouth.

  Then he let go of the mug, withdrew his hand and stepped back. “You can just leave it.”

  She rinsed it anyway, and set it on a dish rack to dry. A meow sounded outside the door.

  “Barn cat. Great mouser. I’ll make sure she’s got food before we go.”

  “I’ll meet you outside.”

  She gathered her notepad and camera bag. And her purse. When she walked through the side door, he was waiting.

  “My mother loved this little covered entry.”

  “Quaint and picturesque.”

  “She called it a proper entry for an old home.”

  Melonie’s heart melted. “She’s right. So many old places became add-a-room houses. It’s not easy to do additions that keep the integrity of an old place while addressing necessities.”

  “What made you decide to do this?�
� he asked as they walked to his truck. He didn’t walk real close to her, but not all that far away, either. “Designing? Homes? Making things pretty?”

  “See, that’s the common misconception,” she told him once she’d pulled herself up into the truck’s cab and snapped her seat belt into place. “Function first. Unless I’m working with someone who absolutely doesn’t care about function and the sky’s the limit. But for us normal folk, it’s about function. Make it accessible, safe, keep the flow of people in mind and then make it pretty enough so no one feels engineered.”

  He backed the truck around and headed for the road.

  “My grandmother was the inspiration for our design magazine,” she explained. “She loved to see a home come back to life. Not as a profession, but she had an eye for how to make it work. When my sisters were out winning equestrian events, I was designing floor space with graph paper and a pencil. Once I discovered computer-aided drawing, the rest was history. I could create, change, practice and never have to waste another sheet of paper.”

  “Do you need my help tonight?”

  “Are we picking up Annie and Ava now?”

  He nodded.

  “Then, no. You spend time with those babies so they get to know you. I’ll work in the stable apartment.”

  “Your uncle put a great office on the first floor,” he reminded her as he turned into the Pine Ridge Ranch driveway.

  “And it’s lovely,” she said smoothly. “But I like that full flight of stairs between me and the horses. And that apartment is crazy cozy.”

  “Will you stay out there when Heath and Lizzie get married?”

  “An Independence Day wedding and a backyard barbecue reception, two things that I might not have associated with ‘Fitzgerald wedding.’” She laughed as he swung the truck into Rosie’s driveway. Two small shepherd homes stood side by side along the longer ranch driveway. Aldo lived in one, and Harve and Rosie lived in the other, with their kids. “We’ll see. Charlotte’s good with animals, your house should be ready for the girls by then, and it might make sense for Char to take the stable apartment.”

  “The house will be ready.” He’d pulled off his cowboy hat and tossed it behind the back seat of the truck. “What about me?”